Give Me A Hand
by Runzia
Summary: Jack has woken up aroused. Tyler has come back. Jack meet with Tyler face to face. Tyler asks for a helping hand. PostMovie. Slash. TylerJack.


**A/N: This'll be my first time writing a fan fic for a movie. I wish I read the book, but I guess I will eventually.**

**-----**

I am Jack's arousal thick in the air.

It's dark and Marla is next to me in my musty bed. I do not turn to her for comfort. For the solace of my own carnal desires. I hear Tyler's voice call to me. I, of course, follow it.

He's in the kitchen smoking a cigarette. He's shirtless and his jeans hang loose on his narrow hips. His muscles gleam with sweat in the filthy light that streams from the dirty light bulb. His hair is spiky and wet and it drips down his arms and onto the table he leans on. He swings a bare foot back and forth as he looks at me studiously. He looks like a god.

I am Jack's teenage nervousness.

"What are you doing up?" I croak, looking and feeling very much like an awkward teenager.

He takes long drag from the cigarette and smiles at me.

I am Jack's anxious expectancy.

"I should ask you the same thing," he says, and gestures to my crotch.

He is the perfect man. He has no shame. He's good at everything I want to be good at. He could ask anything of me and I'd do it. That thought is scary.

"I-" I falter, wishing that I had stayed in bed.

"Let's take care of that," he says, flicking the cigarette into the dirty dishwater. He strolls over lazily, in a sexual manner that I couldn't mistake for anything else.

I am Jack's arousal rejuvenated.

He hooks two fingers in my boxer drawstrings and looks into my eyes. Into my soul more like. As if me giving a decision. As if I could say no. As if the last time I seen him I had not shot him. As if he's forgiving me and letting me have another chance to experience his glory. There is no choice. I know better by now. He is my god.

He kisses me. Tyler smiles wickedly, no doubt thinking up ways to make me pay. To make me suffer. To make me hurt. To make come in the most painful way possible.

"I didn't know you were a fag," Tyler says, no doubt to try to send me running only to chase me down and maul me to death. Like leopard would a gazelle.

I am hard.

"I-" I inarticulately say again.

He leans in close to my face. Eyes glittering, the smell of nicotine, and wet lips. "You want me to jerk you off?"

I am Jack's impending orgasm.

He shakes me. _Hard. _It hurts. No doubt bruises will be on my arms tomorrow.

"Stop, not yet."

A command I obey even though it makes me ball my hands into fists. He drags me over to the table and sits me upon his lap. His hands move into my boxers. "Don't move," he says softly, but I know it is an order.

I am his soldier to kill at will. To suffer all the things he would. I have nothing in his shadow. I am his shadow. And he is everything. Everything, everything. He wants to hurt me. I can feel it. He wants me to break. So he can mold me back together. Again and again. I am masochist in their truest form. Take me, break me, make me. Over and over.

I am clay. _His_ clay.

He pumps his hand up and down my erection. Squeezing hard sometimes and moving his fingers around the head. The orgasm is there, but just out of reach. He wants to kill me. I whimper.

I wish I had ran. I would gladly have him maul me than torture me to death.

It's there. I am reaching out though I have nothing to reach for. Tyler is behind me. Grinning evilly, toying with my pleasure. Hurting me the most painful way possible.

"Give me a hand," he says calmly, and places my hand over his.

"Tyler!" I shout.

"Next time I'll fuck you," he whispers in my ear.

I come.

"What the hell?"

I look up. There is Marla. The dark beauty and essence of calorie free darkness. Only wearing a shirt. It's mine.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asks, in a normal voice. She loves to swear.

I look down at myself. I am holding my limp penis in one hand. My semen is all over the table, the floor, and me. Tyler is gone.

I am Jack's embarrassment. I want to cry.

"Jerking off, what does it look like it?" I snap at her.

She looks hurt. It is not her fault. I don't care. She stalks back up stairs.

I am hurt. Tyler has hurt me. I wonder if he'll come back.

---

I hope he does.

**A/N: I hope this sounds right. I never written anything like it. It almost seems a bit repetitive but it's the best I could do. Please review!**


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